Her longings were calling out.
She had become too devout.
In the ways of yesterday.
All devised without her say.
Demands and expectations,
Of familial relations.
Actions were not of her own,
But in response to a moan,
Of loved ones, how they needed,
All of which superceded,
Her own wants and her own desires.
Of serving them she never tired.
Concrete poured into their pedestal.
Her devotion was incredible.
How she made kings and she made tyrants.
In glory they rose while she stood silent.
In time she became disenchanted.
Expectations. Taken for granted.
She’d lash out and set them straight,
As she cleared their dinner plates.
Though she left, it didn’t last.
To her own she was steadfast.
Despite the endless abuse,
There was always some excuse.
They needed her, as she knew it.
Only she can see them through it.
She’s potential and she’s the spark,
This undercover matriarch.
Something latent in those trolls.
In their promise she’s made whole.
Fruitless to be intervening.
In this place she finds meaning.
She is tired, she is falling.
It’s a feature of this calling.
That’s her nature, that’s her way,
And so right here, she will stay.
© 2019 TheRememberings Ltd.